


Fighting Monsters (DISCONTINUED)

by bipabrena



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - After College/University, Autopsies, Blood and Violence, Cannibalism, Child Murder, Forensics, Gen, Murder, Mutilation, Mystery, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Violence, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-11 17:48:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11719392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bipabrena/pseuds/bipabrena
Summary: Bertholdt Hoover, a prodigy and genius forensic chemist, taken under the wing of the sharp and feisty Levi Ackermann; the brilliant medical examiner and analytical detective with an attitude, who also happens to have an unusual cleaning addiction.Reiner Braun, recent college graduate and rookie investigator, recommended to the law enforcement agency by his professor, mentor and prestigious detective commander, Erwin Smith.Two inseparable childhood friends who have delved into the dark world of crime—one does it out of pure thrill and excitement, while the other is driven by noble, selfless motives. Now, they dedicate their lives to leaping into the unknown and solving crimes by using science, gut instinct, and wits.Note: the title, tags and summary might change. Naturally, more characters will be added as the story progresses. This is only what I have for now. I'm only experimenting. Also, I'm going to use Japanese honorifics. YEAH, I'M SUCH A WANNA-BE.





	1. The x Gambler I

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this will be my second fanfiction. I only have random ideas and write them, but hopefully, the story will expand and become more than that. I'm just trying out different writing styles. In contrast to "It's Always Been You" (my first fanfiction), which is mostly angst and drama, this will be more "scientific" in nature. I've always been interested in the topic of serial killers and forensics (which I am aiming for in the future in college, while I finish my current career), and I just love Bertholdt and Reiner too much, so I wanted to use them in this story. 
> 
> Believe it or not, it's pretty hard to come up with forensic scenarios, hahaha. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy :)

Achilles Albani was a consequential fellow. Twenty-eight years old, part of a successful company, and had been married to his loving wife, Grace, for over three years now.

From what everyone knew, he was a healthy fellow that indulged in no worse habits than drinking every now and then. He had good friends, sometimes drank heartily with them after work, but he always came back home, safe and sound, to his wife.

For the last two weeks, workload had been heavy, making Achilles stay up late at night in his den, working on his laptop.

But other than that, everything was just fine.

Until one day, Grace woke up and Achilles was nowhere to be seen. She had no messages from him, indicating he hadn’t left for work. She thought that, perhaps, he was in such a rush he forgot to text her, but to her, it seemed unlikely. She went to his work den to look for him, and there he was, seated at his desk, his head resting on his arms.

She thought he looked peacefully asleep, but felt obligated to wake him up before he was late for work. His cheeks were a healthy shade of pink, but when she touched his hand to wake him up, it was stone cold.

Achilles was dead.

The death was a complete mystery. Rookie detective Reiner Braun was used to common murders, where blood splatters and evidence of struggle tainted the crime scene. This crime scene completely deviated from that. He had no idea what could have happened.

There was no indication of break-ins or struggle. A scenario of his wife being the culprit was extremely unlikely, though not off limits.

Since this type of crime was new territory for the assigned investigators, the best they could do was wait for the pathologist to conduct an autopsy, and let the forensic scientists run some tests, to **_then_** let the sleuths handle the rest.

While the crime scene technicians looked around the den, and house, for the third time to see if there’s evidence they’re missing, Reiner sneaked outside the house to make a call.

The phone beeped three times.

“What is it?” the agitated voice on the other line spoke.

“Good morning to you too, Bertholdt.” Reiner’s tone was stern but playful, to remind his friend it’s impolite to pick up the phone so abruptly. _“Manners.”_ He’d tell him.

The young man on the other line huffed. “Good morning, Reiner. What does His Majesty require of me?”

Reiner chuckled. “Fine, I take it you’re too busy for idle chat.”

He observed the patio and stuck his free hand in his pocket.

“Quick scenario.”

Bertholdt, leaned towards the lab desk, placing his chin on it. He was staring at the liquid in the test tube, hoping for it to turn purple. He hummed, indicating his friend to continue.

“Wife goes to sleep, husband is working at home. Next day she wakes up, he isn’t in bed. She goes to his work den and finds him resting on his desk. He looks just fine, but turns out he’s dead. No blood, no evidence of break-ins or any messes whatsoever. Any ideas?”

Bertholdt sat up and leaned on his right hand. He mentally celebrated due to the liquid turning purple. A positive reaction—this is good.

“When you say he looks just fine, what do you mean?”

Reiner rose a brow. “I mean that he looks alright. There’s no exhibit of him being hurt at all. A suggestion was a heart attack due to no indications of break-ins and how natural his death seemed, but his position was too relaxed to suggest so. Besides that, it was a poor suggestion to make to begin with, since he’s only twenty-eight and had no medical antecedents we know of. Moreover—“

Bertholdt interrupted with a sigh. “Reiner, just tell me what he looked like when you first saw the body. You said he looked unharmed and his position was natural, but what did his skin look like? Was it normal, blue, purple?”

Reiner coughed. “He looked normal, and his cheeks were a nice shade of pink.”

"As if he had taken a brisk walk?" Bertholdt asked.

"Yeah."

“Well.” Bertholdt spun on his chair. “Cause of death solved. It’s carbon monoxide poisoning, buddy. Now, I’m busy. I’ll call you when I’m off work.”

“Wait!” Reiner spat as fast as he could before his impatient friend hung up on him. “That doesn't make sense. He’s in his work den, and we’ve already searched the place inside out. There’s no devices or installations which can produce carbon monoxide.”

“Interesting.” Bertholdt noted, now heading towards the cafeteria. “I guess you’ve got no choice but to wait for the body to arrive to Levi-sama. I can’t participate in autopsies yet, so I’ll ask him to check the body’s hypostasis various times to confirm whether the body was moved or not. But Rein, I can assure you it’s carbon monoxide.”

“Yeah, I trust your judgement. It’s just that if it wasn’t moved, that’s going to make things tough on us. No evidence of murder even though we’re not ruling it out, and suicide is a possibility too, but no one’s betting on that. Both scenarios seem too improbable.”

“Don’t stress yourself out so quickly.” Bertholdt observed the pastries. “You just started the case **_at least_** an hour ago, I presume.”

Bertholdt brushed his hair back.

“Just take it easy. Wait for the body to get to us, we’ll examine it, and then you can take things from there.”

Bertholdt knew Reiner’s last case was a fiasco, much to Erwin’s—Reiner’s mentor—disappointment. It’s only natural he wants to do his best from the very beginning.

“Yeah.” Reiner smiled. “Thanks. See you later.”

“Later.”

Bertholdt put away his phone.

“Mia.” He smiled politely at the woman behind the counter, who already knows exactly what he is going to have.

She returned the smile. “The usual, I assume?”

Bertholdt leaned, laying his elbows on the counter. He rested his chin on both hands. “That’s why you’re my favourite person around.” He offered a suggestive smile. “Because you’re so smart.” He said sincerely.

She rolled her eyes and turned back, ignoring the remark. She grabbed a bag and packed two of each pastry. Brownies, strudels, cinnamon rolls, and croissants, accompanied by a tall plastic cup of hot chocolate. 

“I don’t understand how you can eat so much and remain slim.”

He put a croissant in his mouth, looking for spare dollars in his lab coat’s pocket. He wasn’t chewing the croissant; just holding it.

Despite having his mouth full, he responded.

“I work out.” He managed to smile. “And I eat a lot because I think a lot.”

She feigned an expression of disgust.

“Either get that thing out of your mouth when you talk, or shut up.”

Bertholdt bit the croissant and laid it on a napkin on top of the counter.

He chewed and swallowed as he handed the money.

“I said I work out and think a lot, so I have to eat proportionally to the amount of activity I perform.” He scoured through the bag to make sure everything was in order.

She looked at him doubtfully.

“Hey.” He put the croissant back in his mouth. “I’ll mail you some studies, that way you’ll believe me when I say thinking hard gets you hungry.” He winked at her. “See ya, Mia!” He turned back and raised his palm to bid her goodbye, without looking at her.

That boy was going to be the death of her. He’s the youngest employee in the Forensic Science Department. He recently graduated college, and yet, he was able to quickly land a decent job, and impress his superiors in no time. Word has it that he’s a virtuoso in more than just his Chemistry field, but there’s not much else that’s known about him besides that and the fact Dr. Levi Ackermann, head pathologist of the department, took a keen interest in him.

Geniuses are attracted to geniuses, apparently.

* * *

Bertholdt was done for the day. He wanted to get home and plop on the couch—he was absolutely exhausted. He gathered his things and grabbed his backpack, heading for the door. He crashed onto something, or rather someone, as soon as he opened it.

It was Levi.

“E-excuse me sir, I didn’t see you coming in.”

_Shit, that didn’t sound right. I hope he doesn’t think I’m making a joke about his height._

Levi bore his usual dull expression.

“Where are you going, brat?”

Bertholdt was surprised at the question, given how obvious the answer was due to the time. But what bothered him most was the nickname " _brat_." He's a grown man, not a child.

“I’m going home, sir. It’s 17:00 P.M.”

“Are you sure you’re going home?”

Bertholdt didn’t know what he was trying to say.

“Yes, sir. My shift is done.” He tried to watch his words, and specially his tone, as best as he could. He didn’t want to risk setting off Levi in any way.

Levi’s stare was making Bertholdt uneasy.

“S-sir, if I may ask, why are you asking if I’m sure I want to go home?”

Levi almost smirked. He was waiting for Bertholdt to say something in the likes.

“Do you want to see a corpse?”

Bertholdt’s eyes widened, mouth parting.

Seconds of silence.

He grinned, his blood pumping with excitement.

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

Reiner and his partner Marcel Galliard were frustrated by the absence of clues in their forensic research. They decided to go back to the Albani household and carry out detailed sweeps of the entire house—all the areas had already been examined, but they had been given much less attention than the den. Reiner considered this sloppy.

Forty minutes had passed, and they met at the living room, their meeting point.

“So?” Reiner asked, in hopes Marcel had better luck than he did.

“Nothing.” Marcel frowned. “The basement, attic, garage and patio—they have all proved as negative as the search in the den.”

He rubbed his eyes in exhaustion.

“I presume you’ve reached the same stalemate I have?” he asked.

“Sadly.”

As expected.

“I haven’t even found an oil heater, or any other appliance that could have been the source of carbon monoxide. At least not to the point of releasing lethal quantities.” Reiner explained.

His colleague sighed in defeat.

“I’m already drafting my report in my head, and the search isn’t over yet.”

Reiner wanted to laugh, but from frustration.

“I envision it.” Marcel elaborated. “Descriptive details, sketches, sheets and tables, all of it adding to the fact we have no clue how Achilles Albani died.”

Reiner recalled Bertholdt’s words.

“We shouldn’t stress too much yet.” He encouraged. “The case just began. We should wait for Dr. Ackermann to perform the autopsy, and let Hoover, Michaelis and Amari examine the evidence. Then we’ll just use whatever they find and try to crack the case.”

Marcel sighed. “I guess.”

They bid farewell to Mrs. Albani and headed out, now in their vehicle.

Reiner rubbed his face desperately. “I’m done with working overtime.”

Marcel chuckled in agreement.

* * *

Bertholdt stared at the cold, lifeless body of Achilles Albani. He was feeling dizzy.

“Bertholdt.”

Levi brought him out of his trance. He turned his head to him.

“What do you think it was?” he asked, putting his gloves on.

“The cause of death?”

“Yes, but not **_what_** killed him. As in, was the cause of death a homicide or a suicide?  Currently, it’s marked as undetermined due to the lack of evidence. Quite a particular case, really.” He examined the body, looking for scars, tattoos, or any sort of marks.

Bertholdt repositioned his surgical mask. He wanted to ask why Levi wasn’t using one.

“I don’t know.” he answered sincerely. “All I’m sure of is that he died of carbon monoxide poisoning."

“Okay.” Levi nodded approvingly, raising the corpse’s arm, noticing the lack of cherry-red patches the rest of the body had. This proved the body hadn’t been moved and that Albani had, indeed, died in his chair. “How are you certain?”

“W-well.” He was starting to get nervous. Normally, he’d be able to explain this without an issue, but this was Levi. He felt he was in a courtroom, and that every word which came out of his mouth was being judged.

“The corpse would look the same if Mr. Albani had died of cyanide poisoning, but it wouldn’t add up. From what I understand, he worked in technical support in an important company. I can’t imagine any sources of cyanide there.”

Levi finished writing down the weight, height and ruled out tattoos, scars, and marks. He grabbed a scalpel while listening to Bertholdt, and created a Y-shaped incision from the shoulders, over to the sternum and down to the pubic bone.

Bertholdt wanted to cringe over the noise of blade meeting flesh, but he liked the sound and couldn’t stop himself from staring.

“If he worked in an industry which manipulated chemicals, then I wouldn’t rule it out. But that wasn’t the case. Any other sources of cyanide wouldn’t have been severe enough to kill him, such as laetrile, or cigarettes.”

“Then.” He lost his train of thought.

“Then, uh.” He was dizzy.

Levi looked at him and snorted. “Feeling squeamish?”

“N-no.” he replied shyly. He wasn’t trying to act tough—he was interested in what he was seeing, but he was still feeling lightheaded, for some reason.

“It’s probably the formaldehyde” Levi suggested, now separating the skin and underlying tissues to reveal the ribcage and abdominal cavity.

The organs were exposed.

Bertholdt gasped and ran to Levi’s side. He took in the sight, absolutely amazed.

The trachea, esophagus, heart, lungs. They were all visible. Seeing everything so perfectly in place, seeing the peritoneum, what once glued together the abdominal cavity, ripped apart. The mesentery, what in life provided Albani’s intestines their blood supply with the blood and lymph vessels embedded in it.

It was beautiful, and he felt happy.

Though Levi could understand Bertholdt’s excitement, he elbowed him in the stomach for being impolite.

“Keep your distance.” He ordered.

“S-sorry, sir.”

“You were explaining something.”

“Y-yes.” He swallowed.

“The other hypothesis we could create, when using the corpse’s colour as a guide, would be freezing. But that doesn’t make sense either, because even to an amateur, it was evident the body hadn’t been moved. This is what the crime scene technicians and detectives said. And his death happened overnight, so the body being refrigerated is an unintelligent suggestion.”

Levi intently observed the blood sample he took minutes prior.

“The only other option is carbon monoxide.” Bertholdt concluded, trying to not expand too much.

“Well.” Levi placed the tube back on the steel utility table. “You were right.” He made a come-hither motion. “Come here.”

Bertholdt complied.

Levi pointed at the lungs. “What do you see there?”

Bertholdt took a good, hard look.

“They look congested and puffy.”

Levi wiped a drop of sweat with his forearm. “Right.”

“It’s extremely simple to tell when someone has died of carbon monoxide poisoning. But, we must follow protocols, so we still have to check the brain. If we find tiny haemorrhages on its surface, which we **_will_** , and once we find the saturation in the blood, which we also will ** _,_** ” he pointed at the tube “then we can write on the report the culprit was carbon monoxide.”

Bertholdt hummed in agreement, staring at the organs.

“Still, that’s going to be so boring for us.” Levi sighed dully.

Bertholdt looked at him. “Pardon?”

“It’s a simple cause of death. The detectives will get to do the fun part. There’s no indication it was a homicide or a suicide—there was nothing on this guy’s house. How exciting is that?”

“The case is as plain as it is mysterious. Albani died in his chair, no struggle or disturbance, the den contained no means of producing the gas that killed him, yet he died of poisoning anyway.”

He sighed once more. “But our job is done once we finish the autopsy. That’s boring.”

Bertholdt wasn’t sure what to reply.

“Do you want to remove the heart?” Levi asked.

He perked up at the question. Was it even okay for him to be there? Levi’s answer would be yes, but the truth was that no. As a forensic chemist, he had no place being with a pathologist while conducting an autopsy. Technically, it was overtime for Bertholdt, but he still wasn’t supposed to be there. Levi didn’t care, though.

“Yes.” He smiled.

“Watch carefully.” Levi signaled his attention to shift between the heart and lungs. “You have to place a finger through here” he touched the transverse sinus “and divide the aorta and main pulmonary artery about three centimetres above the aortic valve.”

He mimicked the action so Bertholdt could emulate it.

“Try it.” He encouraged.

Bertholdt complied and jolted in surprise at the touch. He could see the pulmonary veins now. Seeing body parts in videos or a textbook doesn’t even come close to what he’s feeling right now, by seeing and touching an organ in real life.  

“Now.” Levi handed him the scalpel and placed his hand on top of his. “The superior cava right here” he instructed “is two centimetres above where the right atrial appendage meets the vena cava.” Throughout the entire explanation, Levi guided Bertholdt’s hand, simulating the procedure.

Levi let go and Bertholdt’s hand threatened to shake. He took a deep breath, and slowly began to emulate Levi’s explanation.

The sound of the aortic and pulmonary valves being cut overwhelmed him with fascination.

It was strange. The room reeked of a combination of disturbing smells—blood, the muddy smell from the viscera, the sour smell of bile from the gallbladder and the formaldehyde compound used to preserve organs. And yet, Bertholdt loved it.

Though he looked calm and focused on what he was doing, Levi could sense the excitement in him. Because when he was young and experienced his first autopsy, he felt the exact same way.

* * *

At the end of the first week of investigation, Reiner went back to the den in Albani’s house and tried to psych himself into feeling the room the way Achilles had. He needed to understand the room better, before he could say it held no useful evidence, just like the rest of the house.

He sat down on the desk, and clasped his hands on the leather blotter. He tried to sharpen his senses and let himself be as receptive as he could.

Nothing he expected happened.

What did happen was finding himself staring at a box of playing cards on the desk. It had already been examined, along with everything else on the desktop, but Reiner opened it and began shuffling one of the two packs inside.

All he was doing was try to relax himself, feeling the cards flow through his hands, enjoying the feeling of riffling.

Then he noticed something unusual.

As he riffled one of the end of the deck, the back design appeared to have independent movement. At the upper left edge, white flecks moved across the pattern.

_This seems familiar._

He turned the pack around and ruffled the other end. The same thing happened; little dots of white jiggled back and forth on the printed design on the back of the cards.

_The cards are marked?_

Each one had been treated with a sharp-pointed instrument to remove two bits of the design of the card. The result, naturally, was two small areas of white on each one.

Reiner spread the deck on the desk and observed it.

_One mark seems to indicate the card’s suit; the category in which a deck is divided. The other one denotes its value. Because the marks are in different parts on every card, the white marks seem to move naturally when riffled._

Reiner grabbed the other pack of cards and repeated the process. They were marked too.

He brought his fist to his mouth and bit his thumb nail in concentration.

_Every card has been carefully treated to be readable from the back. And it’s not just one deck, it’s two._

He grinned widely. This wasn’t exactly a breakthrough, but it was an unexpected discovery, and this got Reiner enthusiastic.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Galliard to discuss his discovery.

“Yeah, Marcel?”

He leaned back into the chair, looking at the cards.

“You want to go get some drinks?”


	2. The x Gambler II

Marcel couldn’t take his eyes off her, and it seems the brunette bombshell reciprocated. He wanted to pay attention to Reiner, but found himself unable to. He had been working all day, he was tired—and though he wanted to speak about the case and see what findings Reiner had gathered, the beautiful woman, sitting on a booth of three with her friends, had his full attention.

Reiner noticed, and kicked his shin under the table.

Marcel apologised. This rookie was twenty-three years old and dedicated his entire time to work, doesn’t he realise he should be enjoying life right now? Two women have hit on him so far, and all he did was return a smile. He’s missing out and doesn’t even realise it.

“I recall seeing three or four packs in a living room drawer when we conducted the large-scale search.” Marcel commented. “I didn’t check them thoroughly enough to notice markings, though.”

Reiner nodded. They were quiet for a minute, Marcel subtly looking at the gorgeous woman once more. Reiner looked at his whiskey and stirred it to watch the ice spin.

“I think we should consider a gambling angle.” He broke the silence.

This brought Marcel’s full attention, making him forget, even if momentarily, about the woman.

He pondered for a couple of seconds. He thought they knew everything about Albani by now, and though he fully trusted the interview team, he was experienced enough to not hesitate they could have screwed up their questioning.

After all, they interviewed his family, acquaintances, and friends—but they asked generic questions, and approaching a specific angle like gambling could draw out more information.

“I agree. We should interview his drinking buddies more in-depth, as well as those who claimed to not know much about him. The latter could be hiding something.”

“What about family members?” Reiner inquired.

“I don’t think they, or the wife, would know if he had a gambling hobby, much less problem. Call it a hunch.” He sipped his beer.

Reiner kept stirring his whiskey. He wasn’t sure if they should leave family members aside, but he’ll trust Marcel’s experience. After all, he was handpicked by Erwin, and Erwin was never wrong. However, he was starting to feel Erwin was wrong about himself.

“Could we request a warrant to search the houses of his drinking mates? If we find card decks in their houses as well, we might be onto something.” He asked curiously.

Marcel sipped his beer once more and sighed, looking at the ceiling.

“The gambling angle is vague. I’m not saying it’s a bad suggestion—I embrace it, but I don’t know how a judge might see it. Normally, I’d ask Erwin-taichou if he could request it, since he always succeeds with that, but that’s in cases with more evidence. Besides, we can’t rely on him in every case.”

Marcel was right. Reiner wanted to solve this case on his own, he didn’t want Erwin’s help. But if they issue a warrant and the judge denies it, what are they going to do then? Albani’s friends could easily deny having their house searched, and if afterwards the judge denies the warrant due to lack of evidence, the gambling purview will collapse.

_Now, what to do?_

Reiner was nervous. He was given this job because Erwin recommended him, and his first three cases were a success, the fourth he wasn’t a big part of, and the fifth was a complete fiasco. If he doesn’t solve this one, he thinks he might get demoted—and that’s the best case scenario, if Erwin stands up for him.

Marcel noticed the concern in Reiner’s face.

“Hey.” He drew his attention. “Relax. We’ll solve it somehow, and if we don’t, then that’s shitty, but it happens.” He tried to reassure Reiner. “You can’t solve every case.”

Reiner frowned, and Marcel understood.

“You’re not going to get fired if you can’t solve this. Your last case was tough, nobody’s blaming you for it failing. Erwin might have recommended you, but you’re still an amateur and lack experience. You need to relax, Reiner.”

Reiner wanted to feel reassured, but couldn’t. He’ll just pretend to be.

“Thanks, dude.” He smiled and raised his glass for a toast. Marcel returned the smile and gesture.

* * *

Bertholdt was lying back-down on Reiner’s bed, arms behind his head. It’s been a week and a half, yet he couldn’t get his first autopsy out of his mind.

“Alright, now I’m back.” Reiner emphasised the “ _now_ ”, as if indirectly apologising for taking so long.

Bertholdt sat up.

“Hey, no problem.”

Reiner plopped on the mattress, and lay in front of Bertholdt, who was sitting against the wall. He laid his head on Bertholdt’s lap, looking at the TV.

They were watching “ _The Walking Dead_.”

The opening was halfway through.

Bertholdt felt tempted to stroke Reiner’s head.

“So, how’s the case been so far?” he asked.

Reiner threw his head back a little to look at his friend. Bertholdt felt self-conscious, wondering if his face looked bad upside down.

“I don’t know, it’s weird.”

Bertholdt frowned in sympathy at the answer, earning him a smile from Reiner. His gaze softened.

“Both murder and suicide look so unlikely. The only lead I have is marked decks. We’re supposed to re-interview the guy’s friends and colleagues on Tuesday, see if we can make a connection.”

Bertholdt looked at the screen, noticing the opening was almost over. Reiner took this as a cue to be quiet, but that wasn’t the intention. Bertholdt grabbed the Xbox controller and paused Netflix.

“Let’s talk about it more.” He suggested, knowing his friend needed to vent.

“Nah, don’t worry. That won’t be necessary, let’s keep watching.”

Bertholdt stared at him with his “ _I know you want to, just do as I say_ ” expression.

Reiner gave in.

“Okay.”

He sat up and crawled to Bertholdt’s right, now sitting against the wall as well.

“What really interests me is how he died. He was poisoned, right? But what I want to know is how. It doesn’t make sense for him to inhale so much carbon monoxide in a room with no devices or installations which emanate the gas. Are you really sure the body wasn’t moved in any way? He could have been locked in his car, for all we know.” Reiner inquired with a deep need of finding answers.

Bertholdt wishes he could tell him the body was moved. At least that'd heavily suggest he was murdered.

“No.” Bertholdt answered. “He wasn’t moved—he died in that very spot. The autopsy was clear on that.” He wiggled his toes. “Levi-sama was careful on checking the hypostasis.”

Reiner hummed. “Help a brother out, Bertl. How can we be sure he wasn’t moved? That would suggest ruling out homicide and focus more on another aspect, like suicide.”

Bertholdt noticed there was an eyelash on Reiner’s nose bridge. He took the liberty of brushing it away with his thumb, catching Reiner off guard.

“Sorry.” Bertholdt apologised quietly. “You had an eyelash on your nose.”

Reiner blinked.

“Since you’re a detective, you might recognise the term as livor mortis.”

He nodded.

“In essence, hypostasis is the accumulation of blood in the lower parts of the body, which decolours the skin. The colour of a corpse can tell you a lot about the cause of death.

That’s why I asked you what colour Albani’s skin was when you saw him. Purple or blue would make hard to guess, at first, what the cause of death was. However, carbon monoxide has the peculiar characteristic of turning a person’s skin pink, and then cherry-red the more hours pass.”

Reiner leaned forward, still listening, and rested his elbows on his knees.

“Now, the reason we know the body wasn’t moved is because every part of his body, except for the arms and buttocks, had red patches. Blood cannot accumulate in areas where the body is in contact with hard surfaces, like chairs and floorboards; or in this case, a desk.

If a body is moved after death, a second set of visible margins appears. The areas which are in contact with hard surfaces tend to be lighter in colour, so if he had been moved after death, his arms and buttocks would be cherry-red, making it obvious the spot he died in wasn't the original place. The corpse proved this wasn’t the case, so, he died in his chair. It’s a fact.”

Reiner hummed. This doesn't help rule out any options at all, it only makes everything more confusing.

“I see. That makes homicide an unlikely choice, and suicide is something no one on the case is betting on.”

Bertholdt crossed his arms.

“What bothers me is that the wife is fine.”

Reiner looked at him.

“Hm?”

“If, for some reason, their stove, fireplace, oven, or heater were faulty, the gas would have spread enough to kill her too. But she’s all dandy and fine, so what gives?

You said the crime scene techs found no signs of their car’s exhaust fume being abused, so him inhaling the gas in the car, then somehow running back to his den to die, is out of the question.”

All this theorising was only bothering Reiner more.

“If he was gambling” Reiner spoke up “it wouldn’t be crazy to suggest someone out there was looking to spill his blood, if he had any debts.

Because of the marks on the cards, I’d assume he was a skilled gambler and found a way to cheat games. This would only reinforce my theory, but again, the clues are so vague that there is no way for us to know. Even then, the question would be how the culprit sneaked into his house and found a way to poison him without the wife noticing.”

Bertholdt moved down to shift from sitting to lying on his back. He placed one arm behind his head. His eyes were glued to the ceiling.

Reiner gazed at him, a warm expression he wasn’t aware of plastered on his face.

Bertholdt felt his eyes on him and returned the gaze.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing.” Reiner replied. “We just haven’t had the chance to hang out in a while.”

“Mhm.” Bertholdt muttered in agreement.

“How was your week?” Reiner asked, now settling down to lie on his back as well.

“Well,” Bertholdt smiled. “I witnessed an autopsy for the first time.” He faced Reiner. “And Levi-sama taught me how to remove a heart.” He sighed. “It was exciting.”

Reiner creased his eyebrows. “Exciting to a freak like you.”

Bertholdt pouted, pretending to be hurt. “You see corpses on the scene of crime pretty much every day.”

“That reply doesn’t even make sense” Reiner chuckled “because I don’t get excited, and I sure as hell don’t open them up. There’s a difference between seeing a body lying on a pool of blood, and seeing it from the inside.”

Bertholdt huffed.

“Do you remember when we graduated high school?” he asked, nostalgia in his voice.

Reiner smiled.

“Yeah. I remember trying to get you to ask Annie to prom.”

“And I remember trying to get you to ask Krista.” Bertholdt laughed.

They both looked at each other.

“It’s amazing.” Bertholdt felt fuzzy over Reiner’s sight. “It feels as though it was just weeks ago.” He looked back at the ceiling.

“And then college.” Reiner muttered. His gaze never averted from Bertholdt.

“It’s been both a long and short ride.” Bertholdt felt Reiner’s eyes on him, but he chose to not return the gesture.

“In retrospect,” he continued, “we’ve always been with each other. As kids and in school; we’ve lived together since college. I thought we’d go our separate ways after we graduated uni, but even now, we work on basically the same field.”

Reiner didn’t know if Bertholdt was just reminiscing, or if he was dimly expressing annoyance over always being with him.

“Do uh” Reiner mustered the courage to ask, “do you wish it were different?”

Bertholdt now looked at him.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you wish we had gone our separate ways?”

Bertholdt frowned, slightly sitting up to rest on his elbows. “Of course not.” He offered an encouraging smile. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Rein.” He bump fisted his shoulder.

Reiner felt relief.

“Do you?” Bertholdt returned the question.

“No.” he smiled “Of course not.”

“We’re best friends, brother. We made a pinky promise on third grade—you know pinky promises are the real deal.” Bertholdt joked.

“Yeah.” Reiner laughed. “They’re some serious shit.”

Bertholdt lay back down, now both arms behind his head. He closed his eyes and, in a matter of minutes, fell asleep.

Reiner’s eyes were feeling heavy, and just like that, he dozed off.


	3. The x Gambler III: Case Closed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCASE CLOSED.
> 
> I had so much fun writing this chapter. I really hope you enjoy it! If you like the story so far, please leave kudos or a comment so I can know if I'm doing something right. I also VERY happily welcome criticism, as I am eager to improve.
> 
> THANKS FOR READINGGGGGGGGGGGG ❤❤
> 
> Note 1: Ymir's surname has never been revealed, but just for fictional purposes that fit the story, I chose "Fritz".  
> Note 2: Canon-wise, the detectives working with Reiner and Marcel are all from the Garrison. The captain is Nile, from the Military Police.

**_Friday, 15:32 P.M._ **

**_Meeting at the Paradis Bureau of Investigation Operations' central office for updates on the Achilles Albani undetermined case._ **

Police captain Nile Dok patted Reiner on the back. “Each card in each pack has been carefully treated to be readable from the back. Nice discovery, Braun.”

Reiner blushed.

“Now,” he addressed everyone in the room “Galliard and Brzenska interrogated the colleagues and friends last Tuesday. None of them spit anything out, until one of his coworkers, who at first claimed to barely know Albani, blew the whistle.”

He grabbed a marker and threw it at Marcel, who caught it with ease.

“Go ahead, Galliard.”

The captain sat down.

Marcel approached the whiteboard and circled a name.

“Austin Cipriani” Marcel began.

Reiner leaned forward and clicked his pen, ready to take notes on his notepad. His left elbow rested on the table, and he curled his index finger, covering his mouth.

“We had to make some subtle threats, but he spat everything he knew. He told us he himself wasn’t a gambler, but he did hear about regular card games over at one of Albani’s buddies’ place. There wasn’t serious money involved, and the matches were friendly.” He air quoted the word friendly.

“So,” he circled three more names.

Dylan Oxton.

Nathan Jensen.

Alan Griffin.

“We carried an extensive background check covering the last five years of Albani’s life. Detective Brzenska—who should be back any minute now with printed records of his alternate bank account—researched his background, while I leaned harder on the close friends and coworkers, as well as wife. And these three” he pointed at each name "held the most information.”

Reiner scribbled the three names.

“Albani was a fully trained engineer, with all the right certificates, he was as mentally promiscuous as any man, and had been a gambler since the tender age of seventeen. It shifted from a hobby to an addiction when he turned twenty-two, more or less.

How we didn’t find out about any of this from the beginning, I don’t know.” Marcel’s tone on the last sentence changed, to a mix of both disappointment and sincerity.

“It wasn’t a usual compulsion in the sense he was in it for the money—in fact, it was the opposite. He didn’t care about the money; his compulsion was the satisfaction derived from beating everyone.”

 _Even if it meant cheating._ Reiner recalled once more the markings on the cards.

“Oxton was a very close friend that loaned him money every now and then. He used to be a gambler, but recently reformed himself when his wife almost divorced him. He played almost every game with Albani—“

A knock on the door interrupted.

“Come in.” Marcel announced.

Detective Rico Brzenska opened the door, carrying a large file full of recently printed papers.

Everyone turned to look.

“I apologise for the tardiness. The standing-order mandate took a while to process, and I didn’t receive the records until today morning.” She bowed her head.

Reiner wanted to smile over the polite gesture.

“You’re just in time.” Marcel reassured. “Let me hand over the records, you go ahead and explain them.”

Rico walked to Marcel and handed him the file. She mouthed a “ _thank you_ ”, to which Marcel smiled in response.

“Have you told them about Oxton yet?” Rico inquired.

Marcel confirmed, as he handed over the papers to everyone sitting around the table.

“Good.” She adjusted her glasses. “Oxton told us Albani had an alternate account in another part of the city; we used that information to retrieve the records. The first page is just general information about Albani, the account holder, and the bank. Please skip over to page two.”

The sound of pages being turned, simultaneously, engulfed the room.

“These records show that Albani made regular, annual membership payments to IBM—the International Brotherhood of Magicians, to which he had been a member since he was twenty three.”

Marcel observed and listened to her intently.

“I skimmed through data from the organisation and spoke on the phone with several people in his local area of the brotherhood. And almost every single one recognised what a whiz Albani was and how he, and I quote, _could bottom deal, second deal and side steal cards as easily as people can handle cutlery_.

Two of the people from his local area, Nathan Jensen and Alan Grifin, confirmed he devised a method of removing cards from the pack without detection. And while they attested he was a genius in his own right, they claimed he had never been interested in card magic of any kind, much to their confusion.”

Reiner, like everyone else but Dok, was writing down as much as he could.

“He only associated himself with both amateur and skilled magicians to learn their methods and apply them to his own purposes, which was to destroy any sucker clueless enough to play against him.”

Marcel stood up and walked back to the whiteboard.

“Let me tell them about the wife.” He requested.

She complied and sat down next to Reiner.

“During all of this, we thought it was best to leave the wife, Grace, for last, as we gathered increasing information.

We questioned whether she knew of Albani’s gambling problem, which she profusely denied. I had to put pressure, and she finally admitted he was a compulsive gambler when they met, but he stopped when they got engaged and discussed having children a couple of years after marriage.

She claimed he begged her to allow him to keep the cards, as they meant a great deal to him. She eventually gave in, and admitted they played solitaire every now and then, which explained the visible packs on his desk, but there was no gambling she knew of.

I asked her about the cards being marked, and after a couple of minutes of retracing steps, she remembered she once saw him working the cards with a knife of some sort, but she never thought anything of it. I was inclined to believe her.”

Marcel coughed, and took a couple of seconds to breathe in.

“After extensive discussions with detective Braun” some people turned to look at Reiner “he came up with the theory that, due to Albani’s rabid enthusiasm when gambling, someone became so angry about losing money to the smug whiz that they decided to wipe the smirk off his face.”

“Braun.” Marcel called.

Reiner stood up and walked towards the board, adjusting his suit as an act of nervousness.

He cleared his throat twice.

“T-this theory automatically placed most of Albani’s friends and colleagues in the suspect category. After detectives Galliard and Brzenska told me about their discoveries, I drafted in and divided the forensic investigators to follow two angles.

While Brzenska, Dietrich and Jarnach followed my vengeance theory, Galliard and I concentrated on the little details we had. I went back to Mrs. Albani and asked her what her husband had specifically used to mark the cards. She said it was a silver-coloured knife with a pointed blade. When I asked her where he kept the knife, she said it was probably in his safe.”

Dok squinted.

“I was surprised to hear he had a safe. She shrugged in response when I asked where it was, and said she didn’t know. If there was a safe, it was only natural to assume there had to be a key around. So, I scoured through the main bedroom, living room, patio, and den. I searched inside out, particularly the den, and my attention was drawn to the Persian carpet in which his desk stood.

The rug had been checked during the exhaustive sweep of the den, but the technicians found nothing. Then, that’s when I remembered the Trost case. One of the security ploys from Luxton, the drug dealer, included a hollowed-out foot on a heavy desk, with a plug in the open end. The cavity of the wooden foot served as the safe where he stored the cocaine and heroin.

That’s when I connected the dots and thought it was worth a shot. I got on my hands and knees and looked around. I lifted the front left corner of the desk and slipped my fingers under the leg, and slight pressure on the footplate made it slide. That’s where I found the key.”

Dok was nodding in approval.

“When I told Galliard about this, he suggested we had another look at his work office, even though the first two times we found nothing when the investigation started. We brought the technicians and forensic photographer with us.

The office was one of those offices where there was no trace of the occupant. There were no personal belongings, except for a photo of Mrs. Albani on the desk. We made three sweeps to the office, where we found nothing each time. But we had an idea of what to find, so we continued searching. That’s when we found the safe in the spot of the floor between the inner office and computer room.

The front of the safe was three inches wide, and the steel body, which perfectly fit into the floor, two feet by two feet.

Inside of it, we found a rubber-banded bundle of $15,000, a scalpel which I assumed is for marking the cards, a German magnifying class, four fresh packs of playing cards, two of them marked, and an envelope with an address. Before we moved the belongings, we allowed the forensic photographer to snap pictures.

I thought it was fairly strange to see a written address, since that’s something that could be easily stored in a computer and/or phone. However, I presumed that Albani’s thought process was that it would be easy to crack digital devices, while good’ol’ safety methods, such as written papers inside a barely findable safe, wouldn’t be as simple to get without **_extremely_** thorough investigation.”

Reiner thought he was doing a good job explaining all of this. He wishes Erwin were here to see it.

“So, I could only assume the following about the address” He raised a finger.

“First possibility; it had to be the location of where the games took place. It **_had_** to be something related to his gambling.”

He raised a second finger.

“Second possibility; it had to belong to an important person he wanted to hide from his wife. I can only assume it was a lover. But when I put more thought into it, I drew a third possibility.”

He held a third finger.

“Third possibility; it was both. It was both the location of the games **_and_** the person he wanted to hide.”

Reiner stuck his right hand inside his pocket, while he used his left to move around and express himself.

“While detectives Galliard and Brzenska did their research, I tracked the address and visited it. I produced several copies of it prior to this and handed them out to all the detectives involved in the case, in case anything occurred.  

The address belonged to what I hypothesised to be the location where most games took place, and Albani’s lover.” He grabbed the marker and wrote down a name on the whiteboard.

“Her name is Olivia Khan. She worked in the same company, and all that went through my head was an office affair.

Naturally, I couldn’t help but appoint her as suspect number one. When I first visited, she wasn’t home, so I went to a diner and waited two hours. When I came back, she was home. I told her about the situation and that I needed to ask her some questions, to which she looked both surprised and unnerved.

I asked her about her role in the company, and it turns out” he failed to hold back a smile when recalling Bertholdt “she was part of a team which developed airtight packaging.”

_**TWO DAYS PRIOR.** _

_“Airtight packaging?” Bertholdt asked as he lay on the couch, looking at Reiner who sat on the kitchen counter. The television was on and the sound of a show with low volume played in the background._

_“Yup.” Reiner smiled._

_“And they specialise in meat?” he asked._

_“That’s right.” Reiner continued smiling, knowing Bertholdt would figure out why soon enough._

_There were a couple of seconds of silence, until Bertholdt returned the smile._

_“Nitrogen, carbon dioxide, and,” Bertholdt’s smile grew wider. “Carbon monoxide.”_

_“Bingo.” Reiner chuckled enthusiastically._

_“So, you’ve found your killer.” Bertholdt started clapping as he got off the couch and walked towards Reiner. “Congratulations, Reiner. All of this because you noticed markings on a deck of cards.”_

_He cupped his face and friendlily kissed his cheek, letting out a loud “mwah.”_

_Reiner slightly pushed Bertholdt away and wiped his cheek with his sleeve._

_“Mean.” Bertholdt noted._

_Reiner laughed. “Thank you, Bertl. But I still have to figure out how she sneaked into their house and poisoned him.”_

_Bertholdt tapped his chin. “Well, just get permission to visit her workplace. Search the facility during the night, when only security teams should be on duty. About how she poisoned him, that's your answer, since I doubt she has the gas in her house. As for how she sneaked in, I think you'll figure it out after you know how she poisoned him.”_

_Reiner bit the inside of his cheek. “Yeah, I thought the same thing.”_

_Bertholdt hopped on the counter and sat next to Reiner, and placed his arm around his neck, facing him. A pink flush threatened to tinge Reiner’s cheeks._

_“I’m proud of you, Rein.” Bertholdt smiled. “This will make Erwin proud too, for sure.”_

_Reiner’s gaze softened._

**_CURRENT TIMELINE._ **

“I was surprised to hear Albani worked in a food plant, but it was tech heavy, so I didn’t pry further. The same day I went to captain Dok and requested permission, as well as the company’s, to investigate with Galliard. That was two days ago.

The next day, yesterday, we went to the facility during nighttime and explored Olivia Khan’s workbay. We found cylinders of carbon monoxide, which extremely small doses are used to render meat sterile. Beside them, we found much smaller cylinders.

With this, we have enough evidence to bring her in for questioning.”

Reiner cleared his throat and stopped talking. This made everyone realise he was finished.

“So,” Dok stood up “now we have enough information to devise the next steps.”

Dok indicated Reiner to sit down, to which he complied, going back to his original seat.

“Galliard and Dietrich, you will go to Khan and detain her. It doesn’t matter if she's at her house or workplace—bring her here now. Once she’s here, let me know immediately.

Braun, you will be in charge of questioning her, while I oversee. Bring the photographs with you, your notes, reports—anything you believe might prove useful. You have at least an hour to ready yourself. Do **_whatever it takes_** to get her to confess.”

Reiner nodded.

“Brzenska and Jarnach, once Braun is done with the questioning and presents the evidence why we’re allowed to detain her, organise the paperwork to bring this to the judge. Any questions?”

Nobody spoke.

“Good. Then get to work, we’ve almost got this.”

Just like that, everyone scurried away. Reiner gathered his things nervously, feeling butterflies in his stomach. Marcel patted his shoulder and walked past him, leaving the room.

He was about to leave when Dok stopped him in his tracks by calling him.

“Sir?” Reiner inquired, hand on the doorknob.

“Good job, kid.” He congratulated, while sitting down and looking at the bank records. “Your observational and critical thinking skills were the foundation to crack this case. Even without the questioning, we can already assume Khan’s the culprit. Erwin will hear about this.” He never once looked at Reiner. “That’s all. Leave.”

“Y-yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He bowed his head and left.

* * *

**_FRIDAY._ **

**_17:02 P.M. INTERROGATION ROOM._ **

Reiner, standing next to Dok, tried to soothe his breathing as he stood behind the one-way mirror.

“What are you waiting for, Braun?” Dok asked sternly.

Reiner observed the woman. Around 5’7, long and wavy brunette hair, a slender figure, green eyes and pale skin. She was beautiful—a person he’d never suspect of being a killer.

He walked in the room, and introduced himself.

“Ms. Khan” he extended his hand as he sat down. “We’ve met before. I’m detective Reiner Braun from the PBIO—Paradis Bureau of Investigation Operations.”

She reluctantly shook his hand. He smiled.

He collected his files and tapped them against the table to align them.

“So.” He leaned forward and held his hands. “Let’s talk about Achilles Albani.” His expression turned cold. “And about why you murdered him.”

She felt fear.

* * *

“To Reiner!” yelled Bertholdt, the sound of seven glasses clinking against each other accompanied his toast.

The seven people drank their shot, simultaneously, in one gulp.

Annie Leonhardt. Armin Arlert. Eren Jaeger. Ymir Fritz. Krista Lenz.

These were Bertholdt and Reiner’s junior high friends, whom they have remained in touch with since then. They had been there for the two of them through thick and thin and viceversa. It was only normal for them to celebrate Reiner’s success in an extremely tough case he was the key to solve.

“Wooh!” Bertholdt yelled. He placed his arm around Reiner’s neck and noogied him, and kissed him in the cheek in a playful manner. Reiner was surprised.

“Well?” Eren demanded excitedly. “Fucking tell us, dude! How did your first actual criminal interrogation go?”

Reiner’s lips curved.

“Well, she wasn’t that big of a criminal.” He chuckled.

“Who cares?” Annie interjected. “Stop cock-teasing us and spit it out.” She served more shots for everyone.

“Fine.” Reiner shrugged. “I guess I have no choice.” He tried playing hard-to-get.

“Well,” he began “when I first saw her I immediately let her know I knew she killed the dude, and I was only there to hear it from her.

She resisted all suggestions she had known Albani, the victim, and had been involved with him besides working in the same company, but I let her continue resisting until she squandered her entire energy.

That’s when I opened my file and bam! I hit her with the photograph and the envelope with the address.”

Eren drank his shot in one gulp. He squinted his eyes as one does when eating something sour.

Bertholdt, sitting next to Reiner, held a Heineken with his right hand, and had his left arm wrapped around the couch, where Reiner was sitting. He intently observed his friend.

“She tried making up excuses, but only ended digging herself in a deeper hole. She admitted they had an affair, and that he promised her to leave his wife, which she was okay with. When Mrs. Albani had to leave the city for business purposes due to being a real estate agent, he’d bring Khan over to his house. Then, what she described to be out of the blue, he said he didn’t want to use her house for gambling anymore, and moved to another location with Oxton, the victim’s close friend I mentioned. Afterwards, he gradually ceased contact with her, which infuriated her.

In essence, this was just a typical case of an office affair, where the third party tries to ruin the first. Literally like a film.” Reiner smiled and drank his shot.

Bertholdt’s lips parted and curved.

Reiner turned to look at Bertholdt as he spoke and, feeling tingly from the way his friend was looking at him, he averted his gaze almost as quickly as he landed it.

“With a dose of manipulation, threats, and pressure I was forced to use, I was able to break her and make her confess after hours.”

Annie served more shots.

“She thought he deserved to die, and for her, the best way was in his house. She called him and said she wanted to talk there, but he said his wife was asleep. So, she said she’d go over anyway, and didn’t care if her ringing the bell woke Grace, his wife, up.”

Eren chuckled. “That bitch is crazy.” He cracked open a Heineken.

Reiner smiled over the comment.

“So, he waited for her in the living room, and made her come in and took her straight into the den. She was wearing gloves and rubber-soled shoes, which she said he looked puzzled over.”

**_ONE DAY PRIOR._ **

_“He sat on the chair and I just stood there, looking at his desk. He told me to sit in one of the armchairs, but I didn’t.” Tears stained her cheeks._

_“When he asked me what I came there for, and to hurry in case Grace woke up, I just opened my purse and looked for a cylinder filled with pressurised carbon monoxide.” She was now sobbing._

_“I opened it and squirted it in his face and he just inhaled it and jerked back, and that was it, I g-guess. I folded his arms and left.”_

_Reiner was amazed. This case gave them so much trouble, and yet this was the answer? A jealous side-woman? A small cylinder with a pressurised gas that was used to sterelise meat? It was **that** simple?_

_The woman’s sobbing interrupted Reiner from his thoughts._

_“What’s going to happen to me? I told you the truth.” She desperately grabbed his hands, demanding answers._

_He pulled his hands back._

_“I don’t know. I already did my part. You’ve got the right to hire a lawyer, or be assigned one. That’ll decide what will happen to you. Thank you for your cooperation.”_

_He stood up, ignoring her pleas, and left the room._

**_CURRENT TIMELINE._ **

“So, yeah. The one case that mind-fucked us was that fucking simple.” Reiner sipped his beer.

“Holy fuck,” Eren announced in disbelief “you realised all of that because of one deck of cards?”

Reiner nodded.

Annie smiled. “That’s seriously impressive, Reiner.”

Armin agreed.

“It’s amazing how you figured out so much just with just one little clue. Like, no one else saw it. You did. If you hadn't seen those marks the case would have been buried and that weirdo could have gassed more people.” Krista said enthusiastically, standing up from her seat. She jumped on Reiner to hug him. "You're amazing!"

She sat on his lap and kissed his cheeks repeatedly. “I’m so proud of you.” She smiled sweetly.

He blushed furiously.

“Oi, oi, that’s enough Krista! Let go off that filthy gorilla!” Ymir called with a leg crossed and beer in her hand, though it was evident she was being playful. She smiled at Reiner. The gesture was enough to convey to him she was proud of him too.

“T-thanks guys.” He replied sincerely, flustered over his friends’ compliments.

He looked at Bertholdt fondly.

“But really, Bertholdt deduced the cause of death as soon as I called him, just by telling him the colour of the body’s skin.”

Bertholdt shrugged it off.

“That’s nothing. You would have found out after the autopsy anyway, that wasn’t impressive.” He smiled at him. “What **_you_** did was.”

Bertholdt and Reiner stared at each other for a couple of seconds, which felt eternal. There was silence, and everyone felt the evident tension forming in the air.

They were so simple to read. The staring, their expressions, the tension in the ambiance.

It was all **_so_** painfully obvious.


	4. The Murder x Of x Four-Year-Old Ethan Aubert I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welllllllllllll, here's chapter 4. I hope you're enjoying the story so far :c if you do please leave kudos or a comment so I can know if I'm doing something right. That way I'll also know if there's someone actively reading ;-;
> 
> I HAPPILY WELCOME CRITICISM, SINCE I'M EAGER TO IMPROVE <3

“Don’t get too hasty” Erwin said plainly. “It’s just one case. You only did what you had to do.” He sipped his coffee.

Reiner frowned. He was hoping Erwin would congratulate him. Everyone had praised him for solving the case with “uncommon assiduity”, but it seems the one person he wanted to impress didn’t think anything of it.

Erwin noticed his frown.

“Problem?” He asked, blowing on his mug to ease the heat.

Reiner forced a smile, which Erwin easily noticed. “N-no. It’s nothing.” He avoided eye contact and looked at his own mug. He stared at the steam being released.

There was a strange tension in the air that Reiner couldn’t decipher.

“You’re joining me on my next case.” Erwin said matter-of-factly. It was obvious he wasn’t giving Reiner a choice—he was **_ordering_** him.

However, Reiner didn’t even think about reproaching or questioning the decision that was being made for him. In fact, he felt excitement in his belly. To work with the one person he idolises most is chimerical. Perhaps Erwin really was impressed about how Reiner cracked his last case, and was simply acting nonchalant to maintain his image of being emotionally invulnerable.

“What is it?”

Erwin slurped, enjoying the sensation of heat on his tongue.

“Ethan Aubert.” He mentioned.

Reiner recognised the name.

“Given our field of work, I presume you’re familiar with the name?”

Reiner blinked.

“Yes.”

Ethan Aubert was a four-year-old boy that had gone missing seven months ago. His disappearance was mysterious, and the police had little to no leads. It was a cliché disappearance—the boy had gone to school, and never came back home. No one heard or saw anything. It was that simple.

At the time of the disappearance; which due to its nature was considered a kidnapping, the mother had been at work and had to stay late, while her sister was at their house waiting for Ethan to take care of him for the remainder of the day and night. The father, who divorced the mother three years ago, was on the other side of the country with his current wife and two-year-old daughter. The boyfriend, the man the mother had been dating for a year and a half, was on a business trip.

The aunt was suspect number one. However, her statement was rock-solid, and there was no evidence to incriminate her. That, and the fact she was absolutely griefstricken when she called the police because her nephew never came home.

No one knew what had happened. The mother, Emily Moreau, was devastated, and called law enforcement almost every day since then, asking if they had any leads on their son’s whereabouts. It didn’t matter how many times she was told they’d contact her, she still insisted on calling.

She was a heartbroken mother, and it was difficult not to sympathise.

“Captain Dok hasn’t made any progress, so he has requested my squad’s help.

_Erwin’s squad? That’s the most respected law enforcement team in the country. This means business. And Levi is a part of it. Does this mean Bertholdt will be involved in this case too?_

“Coincidentally,” he slurped “there’s finally a clue.”

Reiner straightened up.

“A shoe.” Erwin said plainly.

“A shoe? Where was it found?”

“Near Paradis Park.” He wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “So, we’re going to use this lead. A shoe in that location would have been found days, at most, after it was originally placed. Do you understand why this is dubious?”

Reiner tried to word carefully.

“It’s been seven months,” he said quietly, almost insecurely “meaning that the shoe—“

“Speak up.” Erwin ordered.

Reiner gulped. His tone still sounded unsure. This felt like when a mother scolds her offspring, the latter being too afraid to speak up. “It’s been seven months, this means the shoe—“

“Speak up.” Erwin ordered once more. “You can’t call yourself a detective if you’re not sure about what you’re saying.”

Erwin was saying this for the same reason he wanted Reiner on the case. Because he wants to toughen him up.

“It’s been seven months,” Reiner spoke sternly. “So, the shoe had to be placed there willingly and recently,” he sounded annoyed. “because if it were evidence of struggle, it would have been found at least the week the disappearance occurred. I would suggest it’s a message of some sort. Maybe the kidnapper got bored and wants more spotlight, I don’t know.”

Reiner sipped his coffee, now feeling agitated from speaking so fast.

“Right” Erwin replied. “Because saying it’s a message is the most plausible assumption, I believe we might find something else anytime now.”

Reiner rose a brow. Did he mean…?

“Do you think the boy is dead?” Reiner asked.

“Most likely.” Erwin spoke as if this were a casual discussion of the weather.

“I see.” Is all he managed to respond.

There was a full minute of silence, until Erwin interrupted it.

“Reiner.” He called. “If the boy’s corpse is found, this will be an emotionally demanding case, specially for you. It won’t be like anything you’re used to. I’m not giving you a choice, so all I can say is that you ready yourself. Do you understand?”

Reiner felt disturbed, but tried to keep it down.

“Yes, taichou.”

Erwin nodded in approval.

* * *

_FOUR DAYS LATER_

Bertholdt pulled his head back from the microscope. “What the fuck?”

He zoomed in and out.

“Why is there fucking Gatorade in this piss sample?”

The sound of the door opening abruptly indicated someone barged in the laboratory. It was Levi.

He threw a crushed paper at Bertholdt’s head.

“Get up, brat. We’re going to Vegas.” Levi announced, and Bertholdt’s reaction was to pull away from the microscope and look at his superior with an expression of disgust.

Levi, eyes dull as always, rose a brow. “What’s with your face?”

Bertholdt tried to hold back a laugh.

“Levi-sensei, this guy completely trolled us. There’s Gatorade in his urine sample.”

Levi walked towards him to confirm this pathetic statement.

“I didn’t find any mineral crystals or drugs after separating the urine in the centrifuge, but I **_know_** this is Gatorade.”

He looked into the ocular and confirmed it.

“Tch.” He hissed.

Bertholdt smiled at his tiny boss’ reaction. He was cute. “What was this about going to Vegas, sensei?”

Levi slapped the back of Bertholdt’s head, making the latter hold the spot with both hands.

“Sir, what was that for!?”

“I told you to stop calling me sensei. Quit your pathetic honorifics—you’re embarrassing.”

Bertholdt frowned. He didn’t mean to make Levi feel mocked, he used the honorific as a genuine act of respect.

His expression of hurt stirred something in Levi.

“Tch. We’re not going to Vegas, it’s just a new case. Much more exciting than what you’re doing right now, which is essentially as good as going to Vegas.”

Bertholdt perked up.

“Really!?” he grinned. “Is it a murder?”

Levi nodded.

“Whose?” Bertholdt asked impatiently.

The corners of Levi’s lips discreetly curved.

“A four-year-old boy.”

* * *

_HOURS PRIOR_

Reiner, just like most people in the room, was trying to stay collected despite the disturbing scene in front of him. Ahead of them laid the mutilated corpse of four-year-old Ethan Aubert. This was a boy. A young boy. The sight was nothing Reiner had ever seen before; it was eating him from the inside out.

He wanted to look at Erwin for comfort, but knew he’d find none.

Erwin walked towards the corpse and crouched. “When was it found?” he asked casually.

_“It” When was “it” found. How can he dehumanise this child so easily?_

Reiner wanted to move. He wanted to move, examine the body, and check for clues; just like he did with every case prior to this one. But he couldn’t. He was frozen in place. He wasn't aware of the on-going conversation between Erwin and the other detectives and technicians.

“Braun.” Erwin called.

Reiner held his breath.

“Snap out of it.” He made a come-hither motion. “Come see this.”

Reiner clenched his fists and complied. His eyes widened at the sight.

The boy was nude, face battered. His wrists and ankles were tied with ductape, there was a slash in his throat and a chunk of flesh from his waist was missing. The evident violence that tainted the boy's tiny body agitated Reiner immensely. He wanted to leave.

“Put me on the line with Dr. Ackermann. We need to send the body to the morgue as soon as possible.” He pointed at the two men standing in a corner, one of them tightly holding a camera against his chest. “Instruct the photographers to snap pictures of the scene while everything is intact. Afterwards, as the technicians look for evidence, you and I will head to the morgue. We’ll identify every injury we can, and then we’ll go to the house to notify the family.”

Reiner heard every word Erwin said, but he couldn’t process it. He was staring at the tiny, battered, and mutilated body. He felt as though he was about to shut down.

Erwin, still crouching over the corpse, snapped his fingers three times to draw Reiner’s attention.

“Are you listening to me, detective? I shall not repeat myself again. Get me on the line with Dr. Ackermann, instruct the photographers and come with me to the morgue. We need to be quick. Pull it together or you’re out of the case so I can find a competent replacement.” He commanded.

“Y-yes.” Reiner responded.

* * *

Reiner disliked the smell of latex. It was a grim reminder of the unpleasant aspects of his job—blood and death. As he snapped on the gloves, he couldn’t stop thinking about what he was about to see. He was going to see the body of a four-year-old boy, wide open.

Erwin was already inside, along with Levi and Bertholdt. Reiner had been outside for at least ten minutes. He still wasn’t ready.

He paused for a few seconds outside the door, and took a deep breath. He pushed the door open.

Bertholdt, beside a cabinet gathering tools, grinned over seeing him. Reiner didn’t return the gesture, not even a look, much to Bertholdt’s surprise. The draped, tiny corpse lay on the table. He avoided looking at it and focused on the three men in the room.

“I apologise for taking too long. I needed a bathroom break.”

Levi huffed, eyes bored. “I’m just about to start the internal exam, so you’re in time.”

Bertholdt wheeled a tray of instruments next to the table, his gaze on Reiner. His friend ignored him.

“Well,” Levi commenced “let’s begin.”

He pulled the drape back, revealing the corpse of four-year-old Ethan. Though Reiner had tried to brace for this sight since Erwin told him to, it still had the impact of a blow in the stomach.

He finally looked at Bertholdt, in hopes he wouldn’t be the only one affected by this. But he was—Bertholdt looked absolutely unfazed. This sickened Reiner to the core.

Levi leaned and palpated the body, examining it intently. He noticed the wound on the throat, but the more severe one on the waist drew his attention.

“Deep slash on the right side of the waist. Not intended to kill, it served a different purpose.”

“Torture?” Erwin asked.

“No.” Levi answered, cupping the face to examine the head. “It was inflicted after death.”

Reiner wanted to throw up.

“Bertholdt” Levi drew his attendant’s attention, in order to test his knowledge. “Check the wound on the waist, and compare it to the one on the throat.”

Bertholdt walked past Erwin, “Excuse me”, to get closer to the body and examine it. Meanwhile, Levi prepared a syringe to draw a blood sample from the femoral vein.

“The slash on the waist has no signs of healing whatsoever. There is little elasticity in the remaining tissues, and the blood is very dark, meaning the blood pressure was low when it was inflicted. So, yes, this was done after-death, or post-mortum.” He pulled the head back to expose the throat, no gentleness in the action. Reiner thought it looked incredibly disrespectful. “This slash is sloppy. But,” he stopped for a couple of seconds and leaned to observe better.

“Uh.” He was trying to assemble his words.

The three men looked at him expectantly, Levi somewhat annoyed at his slowness.

“There’s signs this wound was healing, so this was done when the boy was alive. It's sloppy, so he didn’t die after it was inflicted. Maybe the murderer tried to kill him by slashing his throat, but it's evident he failed, so I don't know how the boy died. Butchering a chunk of his waist after death seems pointless too, so I’m not sure what the purpose was.”

Reiner wanted to suggest if cannibalism was an option.

Levi looked at the wrists.

“He was immobilised.” He stated.

“Yes.” Erwin replied. “We found him nude, duct tape on the wrists and ankles.”

Reiner released a deep breath, finally unable to restrain himself. “Jesus.” Staring at the boy that was being dehumanised made him feel disoriented, sad, and conflicted.

“Someone must be either incredibly sadistic, or has a personal vendetta.” Levi stated.

Erwin looked at him. “Yeah.” He agreed.

“A vendetta against the boy?” Bertholdt asked, surprised.

Levi looked at him as if he were dumb.

“You’re smarter than that. Please don’t make stupid questions again.” He demanded, almost done collecting fluids and tissues for the toxicology tests Bertholdt was supposed to run later.

“S-sorry.” He apologised sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Erwin held back a laugh. Levi’s bluntness made him feel a mixture of humour and pride. That was his man—as feisty as ever.

Reiner noticed Erwin's action, and that, coupled with the entire situation, made him feel out of place. Levi was treating the body as an object, Bertholdt looked unfazed and Erwin was almost able to laugh in midst of the situation.

_What the fuck is wrong with these people?_

He wanted to cry.

“A vendetta indeed.” Erwin broke the momentary silence. “That suggestion makes sense.”

“Against the mother, perhaps?” Levi proposed, grabbing the scalpel, ready to make the Y-incision.

“Or a jealous woman from the father’s side.” Erwin tapped his chin. He thought it was time for Reiner to speak up.

“Reiner,” he drew his attention. “What do you think?”

Reiner looked at him, a twinge of sorrow in his expression. He didn’t want to speak.

Erwin, face as emotionless as ever, asked. “Too much to handle?”

Reiner didn’t understand why he was being such a prick about this. He wanted to tell him to fuck right off—but he chose to be submissive and tell the truth.

“Yes. Too much to handle.” He replied sincerely, though a hint of snide in his tone.

Bertholdt felt concern for his friend. Reiner noticed this in his expression, and him being more preoccupied with Reiner’s feelings than with the mutilated boy that lay beside them sickened him.

“I see.” Erwin understood. “Then let's leave this to Dr. Ackermann and Hoover, and head to the household instead. We need to notify the family.”

“Right.” Reiner responded blankly.

He wasn’t ready for the sight of a devastated mother.


End file.
